All right, then, I'll say it: Dante makes me sick.
Dreaming of a tomorrow, which tomorrow, will be as distant then as 'tis today.
Without love, the world itself would not survive.
The fire of love and the cold of time, deprive my sweet love of his peace of mind.
Profits on the exchange are the treasures of goblins.
But life is short: while one lives, everything is lacking; when one is dead, everything is superfluous.